


chaos and decay

by Anonymous



Category: Chicago Med
Genre: Adjustment Disorder, Disordered Eating, M/M, Pre-Slash, Touch-Starved
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-19
Updated: 2019-05-19
Packaged: 2020-03-08 06:08:20
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,061
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18888718
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/





	chaos and decay

**Author's Note:**

  * For [salazarastark](https://archiveofourown.org/users/salazarastark/gifts).



The thing with WITSEC is that there's no connection to your old life, to those people or things or routines that were a part of who you were.

 

The thing with Will is, without his routine, he's nothing.

 

~~#~~

 

It started small; his insurance premiums will never be small, but the things he can do in order to make the payments are - no eating from the vending machine, nothing from the cafeteria in his break, no take out or fancy restaurants. He had things down; he preferred high calorie foods he could prepare easily, and nobody ever questioned a doctor only having a green smoothie when they didn't know the greens were either off the end of something else or whatever was on sale at the bulk store. 

"Again, Will? You're going to make the rest of us look bad," Connor said, but that was all.

He kept his weight up, smiled blandly, and got on with work. 

 

~~#~~

 

There are no bulk food stores in wherever he is. The place they stuck him in is older than dirt and doesn't even have a blender, and when he asks for one the marshal just stares at him oddly before asking what he needed it for. Will tries to explain, but the words sound wrong even as he says them; he doesn't have to worry about money here, but it feels important, somehow, to keep something, to keep this.

"What happened to good old elbow grease?" the marshal says, before pointing to the wall and the relic of a handset attached to it. "For the record, no pineapple. Pineapple was not meant for men's stomachs."

When he's left alone, his mind goes blank, almost as if he's too overwhelmed for his brain to keep functioning. There's light coming in between the blinds and the walls when he remembers he should eat, a vague instinct triggered by the unfamiliar feeling of hunger. The marshal has long since gone and Will has nowhere to be, no appearances to maintain and nobody depending on him; he's exhausted, bone-deep fatigue that makes him wobble when he tries to stand, the room spinning unevenly...

_You have vertigo, your body's under stress_ his brain supplies, distantly and as dispassionately as if he's looking at himself in a bay and he's going to be able to fix everything with a blood panel and IV fluids and a certification. 

It's the one habit he'll be able to keep, he thinks, as the concept of sleeping and not having to be on call or wake up in time for shift suddenly occurs as the most enticing and useful option available. In his experience, the hunger will pass if he ignores it long enough, anyway.

 

~~#~~

 

He goes back to work and tries to make it like he never left except everything's wrong somehow; nothing quite fits, as if the weight he dropped means that he's too small for the space in the world he left behind. He can't quite make his routine stick, either; he's awake too late, asleep too long, hot and cold and hungry and not, and every time he gets one thing right another thing spirals out of his control, and he snaps and apologises and snaps again. 

"Are you good?" Connor says, once, but Will can't answer. There's a moment there, still, when Connor claps him on the shoulder, but it's broken as soon as it happens, another gurney coming in, voices and blood and his arm feeling cold, his body moving into trauma three without him thinking anything but how things were good, just for a second. Connor's the only one who doesn't seem any different, in and out of the ED and speaking to Will like he never left and isn't about to shatter, isn't about to run and throw up because he had cart coffee and feels bad for spending when he won't get a full pay for another week.

 

When he pushes himself up, he puts the shakiness he feels down to dehydration, _check for low blood pressure_ and as he waits for it to pass, the door opens and he realises he forgot to close the stall door only when a shadow pauses behind him. "I'm fine," he says. 

But he stumbles, somehow, just a slight wobble when he turns before he's ready, and it's Connor who says, "No, you're not."

Will sees himself in the mirror, face pale and with a slight sheen, made obvious in contrast with Connor, he almost agrees. Connor looks strong and dark and his arm is really warm across Will's shoulders, and he can't stop himself leaning in. 

 

"Okay, okay," Connor says, and he doesn't let go, but he props Will up on the sink and helps him wipe his face. It's easy to go along with, so he does. He kind of hates himself for it, but it's nice, somehow, to check out, just focus on Connor as they go to the break room, as Connor talks to Maggie, as sounds go in and out and he still feels warmth in every spot Connor touched even though there's glass and the nurses' desk between them. It even makes sense when Connor comes back and hands him a set of keys and says to let himself in, help himself to whatever, and they'll grab his stuff later.

It doesn't even occur to him to question it, because Connor touches his arm and it's like fire, and he's been cold for so long he can't not go straight towards it.

 

~~#~~

 

For someone who's rarely home, Connor has a great kitchen. Connor has a blender.

Will feels relief, a cold flood of looseness and relaxation and peace, and then he drops the milk. It lands on the floor with a soft clunk and tips over, and he suddenly can't stop himself from crying, from shaking, from sitting. He's still there when Connor comes in, because all he's managed to do is force his palms over his eyes as if wiping the tears away would make it impossible for anyone to tell they'd been there at all. 

Connor seems to know, though; his touch is still warm, and Will thinks, idly, that he could get lost in it, just lean in and never ever leave. 

 

Connor sits with him, on the floor, and lets him stay there without ever making him talk.


End file.
